


Thaw

by afterandalasia



Series: Femslash Yuletide 2014 [21]
Category: Fantasia 2000 (1999), Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Femslash Yuletide 2014, Seasonal Spirits and Guardians, Seduction, Smutlet, Spring, Winter, Winter Spirit Elsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:50:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With autumn, it is always a battle, but Spring comes soft with laughter and seduction, and gently takes the seasons from Elsa's hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thaw

**Author's Note:**

> Accidentally taken from the 2013 prompts list. Written late and backdated to the appropriate date.
> 
> Spirit sex? Nature sex? I wasn't even sure how to tag this one.

With autumn, it is a battle. Elsa must charge against her, with strikes of frost and lashes of flurries of snow, until she can claim the season as her own and wrap her magic around the world. The arrival of winter must always be like blades and blows, and only when the war is one can Elsa breathe her cold and snow across the land.

Spring is different.

She comes laughing and teasing, all playful touches that brush over Elsa, green eyes sparkling and hair flowing like water around them. When Elsa tries to reach back, Spring darts away in a ripple of warmth, and Elsa can feel the way that the ice starts to melt beneath her dancing feet, the way that the ice in her hair begins to thaw. Spring makes it into a chase, lures Elsa into being the pursuer again, dances among the trees. As she darts around the trunks, the ice melts and drips from their branches, and at each footstep the snow seeps away to leave the earth behind, cool still but rich and waiting.

Just when Elsa thinks that this is the year she has been outwitted, the year that Spring will not be caught, hands wrap around her from behind and a body presses up against her own, a body that is more than a body, a body that is all the power of spring and all of the rushing life in the world coiled up into one form. Spring's warm breath brushes against the back of Elsa's neck, her fingers running clever patterns down the delicate ice of Elsa's gown - a gown that is such an affectation now that she is _this_ , now that she is so much more than human, but to which she clings all the same - and the scent of the flowers in her hair hangs lulling between them.

"I thought I was chasing you," Elsa says, always says, those thoughts poured into whatever words they wish.

Spring runs lips against Elsa's jaw, her tongue softly darting to touch against her skin. Elsa trembles and shivers, and across her lands a thousand boughs shake free their frost. With another murmuring laugh that smoothes over her like water, Spring licks at the neckline of Elsa's gown, and the ice melts away beneath her touch.

Finally Elsa captures her into a kiss, mouths meeting cold on hot, and Spring's lips are as soft as a new leaf and as warm as sunlight and her hands wind into Elsa's hair to pull it free. White-blonde and leaf-green waves roll into each other, and Elsa closes her eyes and lets her gown melt away, just as the snow upon her ground melts.

Spring is older than Elsa. There were spirits before Elsa, she knows that, and there will be ones who come after, and perhaps there will be a time when a new spring comes to take the place of the one who now offers up a body that is all newness and readiness, all soft skin and tenderness. She rolls down Elsa's body as if this is a discovery, her lips trailing soft lines over cold breasts and icy thighs. With the laughter of a thousand waking birds, she rolls Elsa to the ground, and they tumble down in a tangle of limbs, Then it is warm thighs straddling hers, and warm fingers that slide into her, nothing more than warm but still almost achingly hot inside her. Elsa moans, and glaciers crumble at her pleasure.

She answers in kind, questing fingers long since grown knowledgeable, their movements familiar now. It is an old rhythm, so ancient that Elsa rather suspects that _it_ is older than her as well, older than either of them; they fall into it naturally, with mouths and hands and rolling hips. Spring's laughter is the sound of leaves unfurling, her sighs are the shifting earth as flowers thrust their way to the surface, and the arch of her back is the bending of a sapling in the last powerful winds that Elsa's winters can produce. Elsa breathes words that are adorations, the sound of winds on mountaintops, the shattering of ice floes on the northern seas.

The warmth of spring, of Spring, wraps through her. Naked they come together, stripped of even the decorations of their times, flowers and snowflakes and ice-edged leaves falling all about them, and Elsa's voice cracks as she comes, pleasure crashing through her and Spring wrapping around her like a promise. She feels more than hears Spring's own release, the blossoming of a million flowers and the opening of a million eyes, and lips press to Elsa's forehead as she feels herself slip back into her sleep.

Finally, Spring speaks, her words so faint that Elsa can barely hear them. "Until next year, my love," she breathes, and holds Elsa until there is nothing but cold, and dark, and peace.

Until the next year.


End file.
